


sophie's universal singularity

by orphan_account



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Backstory, Dadster, Gaster doesn't technically die, Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Medical Experimentation, he had to fall in the CORE somehow, we all know what happened to him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-10
Updated: 2015-12-10
Packaged: 2018-05-06 00:06:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5395253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sophie's choice: a choice between two persons or things that will result in the death or destruction of the person or thing not chosen.</p><p>father or brother? make your choice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	sophie's universal singularity

**Author's Note:**

> In this, Sans is 9, Papyrus is 4, and Gaster is in his mid-30s. However, that's in skeleton years. Who knows how old they actually are.  
> Personally I feel like the writing gets better as it goes along, and I figure out exactly what kind of story I'm telling, but I don't really have the spoons to rewrite the beginning couple sections. Idk man maybe it's in my head

"Can you open your eyes for me, Sans?"

 

The words are staticky, garbled, as they always are when you can't see his hands.

 

You shift a bit, then peel your eyes open. Everything is washed in blue. 

 

"How are you feeling?" His voice is clearer now, along with his fluid signing, but he's still near-incomprehensible to someone who hadn't lived with him their entire life. 

 

"Um, sleepy," you mumble. "My head hurts really bad. Everything is blue."

 

He's grinning at you, apparently pleased by something. "Good! You've done so well, I'm so proud of you." 

 

You smile a little despite your headache. He points to a cup on his desk. "I want you lift that cup. Try to call it over here."

 

You grow nervous. You've only been training with your natural magic for a year or so, and have only been able to hold things down, not lift them. The point of this whole process had been to enhance magical abilities, but it didn't always work.

 

The heavy cracks in your father's skull are a good indicator of that. 

 

You reach out your hand and extend your awareness. A steady glow shimmers around it, and the blueness in your vision somehow gets even more saturated.

 

Slowly, slowly, the cup lifts off the desk. 

 

He makes a noise of pleased surprise, hands on your shoulders. 

 

The cup begins its cautious float towards you, when something falters. You're not sure what it is, but it feels like going up a flight of stairs and expecting an extra step on the top. A sick jump in your stomach, a thud as things shift back to where they should be. The blue in your vision flickers and dies, and the cup falls along with it.

 

Glass shatters, and he snarls and straightens sharply. By the time you turn to face him, his features have smoothed back into the unreadable, vaguely affectionate look they always have. 

 

Somewhere in another room, Papyrus begins to wail.

 

He sighs. "Well, we always have tomorrow. Go check on your brother, would you? We'll start again at six tomorrow morning."

 

You can't help feeling like a disappointment. You failed, again. What is this, the eighth time? Each hurts a little less, but the enhancement still doesn't stick. Guilt and relief swirl inside you. 

 

At least your skull is still intact.

 

You slide of the table you're sitting on as he turns back to his notes, writing in a language you only barely understand. 

 

When you quickly stumble out of the room to your brother, he doesn't even acknowledge your exit.

 

Your head still hurts.

 

Once in your and Papyrus's shared room, your brother sees you and brightens.

 

You hold him close to you as he babbles. Electric magic thrums in your ribs and down your spine, and you shudder. Part of you wants the experiments to work, so he'll be proud of you, so you can protect your baby brother, but another part of you is scared. What would happen to you if the experiment went wrong? Would your skull crack open like his? Would your magic become too strained, and fail you?

 

Would you die?

 

No, there was no way these experiments would hurt you. He's your father, he loves you. There was no way he would allow you to get hurt. 

 

Right?

 

You know how much he loves science and discovery. You know that he spent most of his time in the laboratory, and sometimes forgets to pay bills or feed you and your brother because he's working so hard. You know he is very important to the King.

 

You know he loves you, and would only run tests on you if he knew they were safe.

 

Right?

 

Sleep is slow to come that night.

 

\---

 

He wakes you the next morning at six o'clock sharp. Papyrus sleeps soundly next to you as you crawl out of bed. 

 

Time for the ninth test.

 

He leads you to the lab, speaking lowly about all the ways he's improved his experiment. Most of it goes over your head, but you don't mind. You're happy to just be talking to him.

 

By the time you get to the lab, you feel like you're going to burst with apprehension. You've been doing this for a few weeks now, but each time is just as nerve-wracking as the last.

 

He lifts you up onto the table, then turns to his desk and jots down a few quick notes. 

 

When he turns back, he's holding some sort of rigging you don't have a name for. There's a mask, and a few straps, and a lot of tubes and wires. 

 

He comes over and rests a hand on your shoulder.

 

"Are you ready?" You'd gulp if you had anything besides cervical vertebrae for a throat.

 

"Yeah."

 

He gives you a smile, then places the mask over your face.

 

It's dark. You can't see anything. For a moment, it feels like you only have your own breath echoing back at you for company. 

 

Rustling sounds around you as he hooks all the tubes and wires to various machines. He rolls up your left sleeve and says, "You remember how this works, I'm sure. I'll give you this injection, and you'll fall asleep. When you wake, we'll do more tests. Are you ready?"

 

You nod. It's all you can do.

 

There's a pinch in the crook of your arm, and everything goes white.

 

\---

 

There is no gentle awakening this time, no soft encouragement to open your eyes.

 

When you regain consciousness, everything has gone to hell.

 

You're floating in midair, and everything in the room is flying wildly. Sheafs of paper and glass beakers crash into each other, scattering scraps and shards everywhere. Your skull feels like it's about to burst, or melt, or shatter into a thousand pieces. The world is washed in blue.

 

He is standing beneath you, frozen in shock. You scream for help, and that seems to jolt him into action.

 

He races over to his mostly-intact desk and rifles through the drawers, scrawling notes on the wall behind him for lack of anywhere else. 

 

Coupling his strangle language with the pain that demands attention, you only understand bits and pieces. Words and phrases like "overload" and "magical capacity" and "failure".

 

Failure.

 

The magic in your body can't be contained by bones as small and young as yours.

 

Failure. 

 

Pressure and sharp pain build in your skull as the magic demands release.

 

Overload. Magical capacity. Failure.

 

If you thought you knew pain before, it is nothing compared to this fresh hell. The blueness swirling inside you chooses to find its escape though your eye socket. There is pressure, then a sharp pop with a burst of agony, and your right eye has gone dim. You can still see, but the blue that had saturated the room is gone on one side.

 

He is grabbing your ankle and pulling you down, down, down to the ground. It's hard to comprehend what he's saying, but it sounds like he wants to give you another injection. 

 

What can you do at this point?

 

You grit your teeth and nod, and can only hope that you don't wake to more destruction.

 

\---

 

"Wake up, Sans."

 

As you rise, stiff and skull throbbing, you look at the chaos around you. Things are shattered and torn and tossed and smashed, and the guilt feels like it's going to crush you. You hang your head.

 

"It's alright, Sans. I fixed it."

 

You look up at him. "How?"

 

Again, most of what he says goes over your head. "I increased the threshold of your magic, but it's a delicate balance. I had to use an experimental substance in order to do so, something extracted from... Well, that's not important. It's called Determination. Your capacity to retain magic is now increased tenfold, but it's fragile. You'll have to work hard to keep all the energy contained. Try not to use it too much, as it could easily overwhelm you. The results of that are, well." He gestures to himself. "Not the most optimal. I'm also unsure as to what the side affects are to this," he continues. "I know my own, but I can't be sure how much of that will carry. If you have any odd memories, or strange sense of déjà vu, please report it to me.

 

"Also, there were some... Complications." Your hands fly to your face in a panic, and he laughs, a little bitterly. "You don't have any cracks matching mine. I'm sure you're upset about that. No, it's something else. The overload of pure magic wore you down to the barest minimum. You have little health, and little defenses. You've become a quintessential glass cannon. I'm sorry."

 

You start a little. He's never apologized to you, not for anything. 

 

He turns away from you, back to the calculations scrawled on the wall. "This is a start, however. A few changes, and it might finally work. Papyrus will be the strongest monster in the underground."

 

Your head shoots up. "Papyrus?"

 

"Of course. You and I are too damaged at this point for any more testing to be safe. He is healthy, and young, so perhaps he will take to it better."

 

He keeps talking, but you're not listening over the thoughts racing in your head. Your mind skips right over how "damaged" you apparently were, right to "Papyrus." Your baby brother. Your head is still aching from the most recent test, and it's only just barely worse than headaches after tests that went how they were supposed to. The tests hurt, and, as you've seen, can go very, very wrong, very, very easily.

 

Your new fragility. The constant pain. The cracks in your father's skull.

 

You can't allow your baby brother to go through this. You won't.

 

By the time he turns back to you, you've smoothed your face back to neutrality. He studies you for a moment, then turns back to his notes and says, "Go on back to you room. I'll send someone with painkillers soon."

 

You hurry off. You have to... You have to....

 

You don't know what you have to do, beyond keeping your brother safe. You don't even know how you'll do that.

 

Papyrus races up to you as soon as you come in the door to your room. "Sans?" he asks frantically. "What happened? Why is you eye all glow-y? Why were you yelling earlier? Why was Dad yelling earlier? Wh-?" 

 

He's cut short as you snatch him close to you. Your thoughts are circling wildly, until finally, your brain throws out an answer.

 

_If here isn't safe for Papyrus, go somewhere else._

 

Papyrus squirms against you. "Let go, Sans, you're hurting me."

 

You drop him as if he's made of fire. You must have held him too tightly. He grumbles, then tugs on your shirt and ask what's going on again.

 

"I..." You hesitate. You don't want to tell him what might happen to him, what had happened to you. "We're playing a game. With dad. We're playing hide and seek."

 

He brightens. "Hide and seek? I love hide and seek!" You can tell he's about to go into one of his loud, enthusiastic tangents. Normally, you love to listen, but right now there's no time.

 

_No time. No time no time no time._

 

Before Papyrus can start speaking, you scoop him up and rush out the door. There was no reason to hide your exit. Your dad was hard at work in the basement, and there was only one chance in a million he would actually remember to send the painkillers he had promised. Speed was of the essence, not stealth.

 

You pause. No matter how scared you are, no matter how much you hurt, you can't leave like this. But you also need to keep your brother safe. You turn back to your room and scrawl with a crayon on the wall:

 

_i'm sorry dad. you're not going to hurt my baby brother too._

_i love you._

 

Papyrus peers curiously at the sloppy words, miraculously silent. Before he can read the note in its entirety, you turn away and race off again.

 

"Dad is gonna count to... To a thousand. We gotta hide, buddy."

 

Your mind races with get out get out get out far away keep him safe far far away and suddenly you blink and there's snow.

 

The cold wind is startling after the blistering air of Hotland.

 

Papyrus squeaks and wiggles out of your arms, eyes round as coins. "Wha? How..? How did you..? Brother how are we in Snowdin how did that happen we're so far from home Daddy will never find us now!" 

 

He rambles on and tosses snow in the air as you stand there, frozen.

 

Heh. Frozen.

 

How did you get here? You barely knew Snowdin. You'd only been there a few times, since Dad was friendly with the man that owned the local restaurant. 

 

It had to do with whatever had happened to your magic. Somehow, you can suddenly teleport.

 

Belatedly, the new ability takes its toll. You're on the brink of collapse without any warning, full of fatigue and more pain than you care to quantify. Papyrus is at your side in an instant.

 

"Brother? Are you okay? Please, get up!"

 

You groan a little and force yourself to straighten. He can't know how much you hurt. He'd be too worried. Instead, you force a grin. 

 

"I'm fine, buddy. Hey, wanna find that old inn? Dad would never think to look there."

 

You manage to shuffle your way across town. Papyrus hovers nervously near you, but he's also young. He can't help racing off to look at piles of snow or interesting buildings. You do your best to steer him away from people. You don't want your name getting back to dad somehow. It would be ironic if you fled in order to protect Papyrus's cheerful nature, and got yourselves caught because of it.

 

After what seems like ages, you make it to the inn. The candles flickering cheerily in the windows give more hope than anything you've seen in ages. When you step inside, the warm, cinnamon-center air washing over you, you finally feel just a little safer.

 

"Hey there, boys. What can I do for you?" The woman asks at counter asks kindly.

 

You stumble forward. "Can... Can we get a room for the night?" you mumble, then hunt in the pocket of your shorts. Surely you have some money, right? 

 

You place the few coins you find on the counter. In all, it's probably 7G. 

 

The woman's expression softens. "This is more than enough. I'll show you to your room." She collects half the coins and hands you the rest, then brings you upstairs. As she walks off, you hear her murmur, "Poor boys," to herself.

 

In your room, you collapse on the bed. You are so, so exhausted. The blankets are warm, and soft, and you feel as if you've been on the verge of tears for hours. Before you can drift off, Papyrus snuggles up against you and whispers, "Sans? I want to go home now."

 

You clumsily pat his shoulder and whisper back, "We're having a sleepover somewhere cool, okay buddy? Think of it like an adventure." 

 

He nods, but you hear him sniffling as he curls up. That's alright, though. Better lost and confused than with dad. 

 

You both drift off together, wet with old snow and drained from the day's events. 

 

When you wake up the next morning, the innkeeper has left a few gifts at your door. A copy of the day's paper, an old jacket and scarf, and a few cinnamon bunnies. The note next to it reads:

 

_Boys,_  
Don't worry about paying me back for these. The clothes are extra things that are too small for my kids, and the cinnamon bunnies are leftovers of my sister's. The money you gave me is good for another night, too, so don't fret over that.  
Have a lovely day!

 

You bring everything inside, and skim the paper, thinking absentmindedly about how to keep teaching Papyrus reading and writing. Your mind wanders, until you come across a tiny article in the middle.

 

_King Asgore continues search for new Royal Scientist_

 

You blink a few times, sure that you're still half-asleep. 

 

A second reading doesn't change the words.

 

Neither does the third.

 

You read the article itself, and there is no mention of your father. None. Nothing about his accomplishments with the CORE, or how he built the containers to keep the few human SOULs you had, or even his name. Nothing. Rather, it mentions the death of the old Royal Scientist, a woman named Dr. Zetas. Along with her past works, everything your father did is attributed to her.

 

What was going on?

 

You shake Papyrus awake. 

 

"Sans? Wha's goin' on?" he asks, voice heavy with sleep. 

 

"What do you remember about dad?" you ask urgently.

 

"Um." His brow furrows. "Not a lot. You said you were gonna tell me about him, right?"

 

Confusion and horror fill you with equal measure. How had everyone forgotten about your father? How had even Papyrus forgotten?

 

"Sans?" Papyrus asks, still lost. You shake yourself back to reality.

 

"S- sorry buddy. I, uh, thought I was up to talking about him today, but... I guess not."

 

He nods, as if that's something you've said before. 

 

What had happened to your father?

 

\---

 

Your name is W. D. Gaster, and you are mildly concerned.

 

Not worried. Never worried. There's no time for worrying with so much to do. Concern can comfortably sit in the back of your mind.

 

Sans's face when he'd left had been... Odd. His left eye had been flickering blue and yellow, which was certainly new, but that wasn't the problem. No, his expression had been cold, as if he had made a decision where he didn't like any of his options. Hopefully, it wouldn't be like some of Sophie's more fatal choices.

 

You laugh a little to yourself. You can never resist poking fun at philosophy. People call it the science of the soul. Honestly. 

 

If those people knew of the exact science you had done with SOULs...

 

After a few hours, you reach a standstill. You're tired and hungry, but those are easily ignorable. Rather, the concern in the back of your skull is threatening to actually turn into worry. You need to calm the useless feeling before it turns into a major distraction. 

 

When you step into the elevator, something flutters just under your ribs. Is that.. Anxiety?

 

Ridiculous. You don't get anxious.

 

"Sans? Papyrus?" You call when you reach their door, then count to ten in your head. Papyrus takes anywhere from five to ten seconds to answer your call from his door, and Sans is usually only a moment behind.

 

Five seconds.

 

Surely the door will burst open soon.

 

Seven seconds.

 

He'll drag you in and beg you to play a game, which you will inevitably have no time for. 

 

Ten seconds, and the odd flutter in your chest has turned into full blown panic. This isn't right. This isn't how things normally go. Your sons are reliable, have been across all the timelines you've seen. This isn't right.

 

You slowly open the door. Perhaps they're napping? Never mind that Papyrus seems to never sleep. Surely there's a simple explanation for this.

 

The bedroom is empty.

 

The bedroom is empty and your sons are gone and there is a note on the wall that feels as if it details all of your failures as a father.

 

Sans left. He left and he took Papyrus.

 

_you're not going to hurt my baby brother too._

 

You hadn't realized. 

 

You'd been hurting your son for weeks. Months? How long had you been doing this experiment? Time has become meaningless for you, days drifting into weeks into months. Your visions across timelines muddle things, make it hard to remember, to keep things straight. 

 

You'd hurt your eldest son, and were going to hurt a four year old next. What was wrong with you?

 

You'd chased away the only two things that grounded you, that had kept you from dissolving into nothing but algorithms and Determination. 

 

Something grips your chest. Fear? Anxiety?

 

Guilt. Shame. 

 

You want to go after them. You want to apologize, to throw yourself at their feet. You want to let them be free from your destructive influence. You are black hole, draining happiness and innocence to find answers. Answers to what? What was more important than your children?

 

You stumble out of the room, mind racing. Your thoughts consume you, have consumed everything. You aren't even sure where your feet are taking you until you're in the CORE. 

 

Sans wrote that he still loves you. Somehow, that hurts even worse than hate.

 

You hurt him. Irrevocably, forever. The memory of destruction after the most recent test flashes into your head. What if that happens again? What if he hurt someone? What if he hurt himself? Anything that happens would be your fault. 

 

You're in the center of the CORE. The source of all power in the Underground. The heat would be unbearable if you could feel it.

 

You drove away the only two things left in the world you cared about. They would never be the same, all because of you.

 

The walkway's guardrail presses into your back. When did you get on the other side of it? Heat flares and curls around your legs. You feel leaden with grief.

 

Sans. Papyrus. Gone because of you.

 

_I'm sorry._

 

You're falling.

 

\---

 

[CORRUPTION DETECTED. ANOMALY IN CORE. PARADOX DETECTED.]

 

[REWRITING CODE...]

 

[REWRITE FAILED.]

 

[REWRITE CODE...]

 

[REWRITE SUCCEEDED. FUN VALUES EDITED. ANOMALY REMOVED FROM TIME. ANOMALY REMOVED FROM SPACE. PARADOX NO LONGER DETECTED.]

 

[G͓̹̼̺̗̺͉ͭͬ͊ͫ͐̋͋A̠̼͓͔͔͆ͭ̊̍́͂ͮ͞͡S̸̡̫̬͒͗ͨ̈́ͩͬ̐ͪ͜T͋́ͤ̊̃҉͍̼͉̰̘̣̹̼Ę̫̫͎̋͛̂̄̏̑̑̿͌́R̬͙̳͕̪̰͍̆̋̉̌̾̔͊͘.̶̞͕̤̮̯͋͋̉̈ͣ̍̐S̵̯̥͕͚̙̖͈̼̲̾ͧͪ̆́ͦ͆ͬ́P̷̡͉̪̯̤̼̦̝͐͒̈́̓͐̉͌Ř̦͔̩̭̦̟̩͆͒̓͋͊ HAS BEEN REMOVED.]

 

\---

 

You figure out how to survive in Snowdin. You get odd jobs around town, usually from Grillby. He doesn't remember your father, and so doesn't remember you, but seems to like you a lot. Maybe latent positive feelings had carried even though the reasoning was gone. That sounds interesting, but you can't bring yourself to look into it.

 

The innkeeper lets you stay in her smallest room for what you're sure is a heavily reduced rate, but you're not complaining. It's somewhere safe, and warm, and you get the occasional cinnamon bunny at your door.

 

No one asks about your parents. It's as if they simply don't think to.

 

Papyrus never asks you to explain more about your father.

 

\---

 

You go back to the lab one day. Your old home. It's desolate, full of cobwebs and rust. 

 

Nothing is how you remember. The general layout is the same, but none of your old stuff is there. Papyrus's action figures, your introductory science books, everything he built. 

 

Gone.

 

There was one room, deep in the basement, that was untouched. Notes scattered around the room reveal that everything in the room had somehow become one across timelines. Journals have many different notes for the same days, all pointing to a strangely buzzing machine in the corner of the room as the reason for timeline stabilization.

 

Looking at it, you start to understand how it works. You logged in the machine what exactly you wanted to stabilize, put it (or part of, if it was too large) into a central chamber if you wanted to increase chances of success, and the machine did the rest. There was a slot in the side that probably printed out some kind of report, most likely to describe any possible anomalies that would cause failure.

 

Wait.

 

Timeline stabilization. 

 

Could this machine save your father? Collect his scattered pieces and put them back together again?

 

Frantically, you start typing. You barely understand exactly what to type, but you keep going.

 

You're determined to save your father.

 

\---

 

[INPUT: Dad]

 

[INPUT FAILED, SPECIFICITY REQUIRED]

 

[INPUT: W. D. Gaster.]

 

[INPUT FAILED. FULL NAME, TITLE, DESCRIPTION REQUIRED]

 

[INPUT: W̷i͝n̸gd͘in̵g̵ ͢Gas͞te̸r̡.]

 

[INPUT SUCCEEDED. STABILIZATION IN PROGRESS]

 

[STABILIZING...]

 

[STABILIZING...]

 

[STABILIZING...]

 

[STA҉B̡I͏L̸IZ͠A̶TI̢O͞N̢ FA̕I̶LED҉. ͝SU͝BJ́EC͠T͞ ̀SC͟A͝T̵T̕E͞R͡ED AC͞R̶O͜S͏S ̶T̴I̢M̷ESPA̷C̸E.̧]

 

[S̴TĄ͟͝B̡͜͏I̷̡͢L҉̕I̴Z̀A͢T̴͘I̧̧O̶҉̀N̸͢͞ ̸̴̨W̢O͏Ú͠L̸͏D̢͡ I̶N̶D̕͜͠ÚC̸E̶̢ ͜P̧͡͝A̕ŔA̷̵D͟O̷͜X̸̶̛.̶̕ ͝͏F̀A̵I̴͢LS̸̵AF̛͟E͡S̀͠ ̶͡Ų̡NS̀ƯC̨̕C̷̢E͡SS͠F̨͜Ų̡̨Ĺ̡͟.͏]

 

[P͕̭̤͕͕͈̑̾À͓͙̼̹̫̦̎͌̈͑͌R͕̲̼̠͋̅̅͆A̖͙̭̬̭̹͎͒̓̄ͩ̋D̩͔̦͢O̡ͨ̿̽ͩͮ͛X̠͎̻̱͢ ͈̱͓͙͕̉̌̐ͥ̐͜D̟̩̰̼͎ͬ̑̊ͨ͆̀E̞̪̗̝̋̿ͨ͂Ţ̰̺ͪ͛͊̈ͮ̍͑E̴͖͍̱̦͚͛ͥ̓͛C̯̦̝̳̓̏̎ͯ̍͢T̊̍̀̂́ͦE̬̬͓D̲̺̼̦̱̯̫ͩ͑ͮ̈́̎̔.̢͋̐ ̵͉̮̖̺ͬͯ̾ͪ̋ͣ̂Pͬ̀̚A̜̥͌͌ͪ̒̋͗ͩR̢͍̰̮͚̬̥̫͌A͔̭̒ͥ͛ͧ͊͛̐D̟͖̫̑̉̔ͤͥO͓̱̹͍̟X͇͍̭̱͙̝̐̏̈̄̌ͦͅ ̶ͪD̢ͩͣ̐̅Ě̞T̲̲̩̹̺͈͛̈́̑̃̓̊ͅE͗Ċ͈͕̪̫̮̑T͎̺͗ͥ͂̾̔ͦ͜Ë̟̙̦̟́ͩͬͯͪ͝D̓͒̆̌̈́ͬ.͉̝̠͍̗̐̄͋ͧ̾ ̲̓̈͒Á̓̂͏̥̞̟̠̦N̟͒̍Oͪͣ͂̓M̜̘͎̌͂̾̃ͥ̍̎A̞͌ͫͯ̏͑͗ͮL̬̳ͨ͛ͯ̏͋̾Y̰͔͚̘̠̔ͮ̂̒ͩ ̣̪̣͓͈̽̅̃̾D̹̈́͌̈͐ͦ͌ͅE͓͍̖̒Ṭ̶̼̊̏͋̔E̖̭͐̍͞C͍͗̎̕TͩË̦̖̉̈ͭͧ́D̫̰̰̱̾̔͒ͥ͒ͨ̚.͎̥̮͖ͅ ̞̙̻̓̽͡S̨ͨ̇͑ͤ̃̃͗T̩̣̰͇͍̗͐́̊̃Ȁ͓̎̓̇̌̓B͍͍̤ͭ̉͐̒́̚I͇ͩ̒ͮ͐ͮͯ̾L͈͎̩̠̣̱͙ͭI͂̅̒́Z̪̙̼̩̒̀̔A̤̭̻͙̒ͮ̑T͚͇̺͒ͨIͥO̮͊͐̋́Ñ̢̟̟̫ͫ̽ͥͥ ̍͐ͤ̌ͪ͆F̡̻͖̯̗̹̥̼̌̐Ȃ̫͓̙̈ͧ̃̎͝I̺̻̫̘̱͈͇͂̇̀ͤ̐ͦL͉͍̜̭̍ͪ̽̉̿͡Ȅ̩͍̫͚̲̤͓̇̋D.]

 

\---

 

The machine manages to print out a page full of strange symbols you don't understand before the ink smears together and becomes unreadable in its entirety. It spits a shower of sparks, the dies. All the lights on it blink off, and the strange humming sound fades.

 

You gape for a moment. "No. No, no no no no!" You hit the side of it in a desperate attempt to turn it back on, but it's useless. Rather than being a source of hope, it's become cold and distant, refusing to help you.

 

You sink against it and curl up, breath shuddering. You were so close to saving him. You could have brought him back. You could have brought him back and he would have been so happy, so proud of you. Instead of tests, you could all play a board game together, or maybe he would make dinner for you all. You have a single foggy memory of him making pasta, once. 

 

Honestly, you would even be okay with more testing and experimentation if he was back to take care of you.

 

Tears roll down your face. It feels like a dam has burst, and suddenly you're sobbing, screaming, kicking the machine and tossing tools around the room. You're angry, and sick with grief, and so, so scared. There is no one there to comfort you.

 

After what feels like hours, but was probably only a few minutes, you exhaust yourself. The room is wrecked, things smashed and torn and tossed. You should regret it. After all, this is everything left of your father. You've destroyed it all. Shouldn't you be sorry?

 

Instead, all you feel is tired.

 

Finally, you manage to collect enough energy to pick yourself up off the floor. You grab one of the stabilized boxes and toss in a few notebooks. Your hand hesitates over a photo. It's a picture of you, Papyrus, dad, and a few of the other scientists that worked in the lab.

 

You look happy.

 

The photo comes with you. Why not? It's not as if there's anyone here to miss it. You also grab one of your father's old lab coats, and an ID badge. Before you leave, you run a hand across the machine.

 

"I'll be back," you whisper. "As soon as I can keep you somewhere safe, I'll come back. I'll save you, dad. I promise."

 

\---

 

Your father can be saved. You're sure of it.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


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